Falling
by DarkQueenBulma
Summary: When a certain scarface boy crushes our beautiful bluehaired vixen's heart, someone is there to show her exactly what the difference is between their teenage love and his very real devotion. YB interaction very limited. A BV, set in 'those three years'. S


Nights of drunken sex, first time smokers, and destructive breakup behavior. It's all included as Vegeta, Bulma, Goku, and the rest of the Z fighter's drug adventures are told for the first time. Those of you against this, you have been warned. Could also included some citrusy lemony limey mushy things, for those of you against THAT. Cheers!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the DBZ characters, or trademarks. I am not making any money off of this fiction; it is for my own personal enjoyment as well as other fans.

On with the story, yeah!

RING.

She moaned and stirred, but did not waken quite yet.

RING.

The blueprints lying on the kitchen table crumpled a little as she removed their giant paperweight. Her head. A couple of them fluttered to the tiled floor, clearly showing her new gravity machine plans. It was something to keep her guest busy. 'And out of my hair,' she thought to herself, as she picked up the rogue prints, then placing them with their brethren.

RING.

"I'm coming," she groaned groggily, knowing they couldn't hear her. Arching her back, she stepped off the stool she had been hunched over in, sleeping on her latest project. She padded over to the phone that was glowing red on the wall in a most annoying fashion. The clock over the stove read that it was two thirty in the morning. 'Wow, I've been asleep for over three hours' she thought, her lips thinning. 'And no one could wake me up?' She'd make a fuss about that later.

She picked up the phone and spoke directly into it, "Hello." Her voice sounded far from friendly, she was ready to go back to bed. She'd been up half the night working on some ridiculous project for Vegeta. It wasn't enough that she gave him a place to stay, food to eat, and the protection of the Earth's elite force. He needed "proper training materials" as he had put it, "to be strong enough to kill Kakkarot and destroy this puny planet". Why was she helping him again?

"Bulma, it's so good to hear your voice again. I've missed you so much, babe."

It was Yamcha who spoke on the other end. She screamed very girlishly in her mind and then took a deep breath to calm herself. It had been almost two months since she had last spoken to him and she had missed him terribly, filling her time with work and then more work. He had been in Siberia, training for some up-coming martial arts tournament.

"Oh Yamcha," she giggled. "How was Siberia? I bet it was cold, it didn't do any permanent damage, did it?" She could visually imagine his cheeks changing in hue. That made her smile sweetly to herself. She loved getting him riled up; it was so easy to do.

"No! I'm just fine in that department, thanks." he scolded. That made her smile that much more, though she did feel a little tinge of guilt for teasing him. "It was cold, though, Serena and I had to wear triple layers of clothes and a huge fur coat to maintain any body heat," he informed her, not bothering to conceal his obvious aggravation with the smart comment she had made.

Whoa, hold on a second. Let's backtrack just a tad. The agitation in his voice was totally lost on her, after the word 'Serena' passed over his lips. Her senses perked up almost instantly and she fluently replied with "Serena?"

'Good job, Bulma. Don't make it sound like you are worried or jealous' giving herself props for not sounding like the possessive, over-bearing girlfriend. He hated that a lot, and she knew it.

"Yeah, she was another of Master Wojen's pupils" he told her.

"Oh, that's nice," she replied back carelessly, not really wanting too much to speak anymore about the woman who spent the last two months with her boyfriend. She wasn't that lucky, unfortunately.

She was amidst the process of eliminating it from her mind, for her sanity's sake (she knew how Yamcha was), but it was drawn back instantaneously. "Actually, she's what I wanted to talk to you about," he continued on, his voice changing from her sweet Yamcha's to some deadly monster's, intent on ripping out her soul. And ripping out her soul, he did.

"What about her, Yamcha," she spoke quietly into the phone. She already knew the answer. She always knew the answer. He had done this on more than one occasion and every time it happened, she became more and more lost. She never knew what to do and so she cried.

"I'm so sorry, Bulma." He began.

Her head swirled uncontrollably. 'This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this is not happening', her voice echoed throughout her stormy head. She could barely stand any longer, her knees buckling slightly. The phone slipped through her hands some, threatening to crash onto the tiled floors of the kitchen. Her conscious was hindered for a few moments while she gained her bearings again. Hurt wove its way into her chest, constricting her breath intake. Her body shook, tears about to start trickling down her face at any time. The more the news sunk in, the more the pain spread through her and then nothing.

Her pulse told her she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The thoughts in her mind told her she was already having one. Her throat was so soar and constricted from choking and crying for the past two hours, she could barely get oxygen through. Her hands flew over the control panel on the sidewall hurriedly. Punching in the password to her solace, the door slid open to reveal her place of relief and release. She all but threw herself onto her large bed, and buried her head in a pillow. The release part of the night had started; hopefully it would bring relief.

Totally and completely emotionally broken. That was how Bulma Briefs felt hours later as she laid sprawled out stomach first on her bed. She held her favorite stuffed animal, a bear holding a little heart with her and Yamcha's picture in it. Her face was scrunched up as her heart collapsed over and over again at the thought of her perfect boyfriend.

'No, my perfect ex-boyfriend' she thought sourly to herself. Left, for a younger woman. A blonde no less. She fingered her long aquamarine locks. She had always thought that her color of hair made her unique and goddess like, but she wasn't sure anymore. Perhaps she should dye it to a normal color. She immediately stomped over that idea firmly. No amount of hurt or pain could make her question her fabulous fashion sense.

She rolled over to stare up at the ceiling absently. Her and Yamcha had been so close for so long. Ten long years together made her feel like they weren't partners; they were two halves of one whole. True, they fought a lot and were off and on, but in the end, it was always known they would continue to love one another. 'Til the end. 'I thought the end was supposed to be when we died' she thought morbidly to herself. She pondered what he would do when he dumped this new Barbie of his. Would he come crawling back like she was so used to seeing him do? 

iI can't let this go on any longer/i she scribbled frantically into her diary. iI love him, I really do. I want to hold him, to kiss him, to love him the way that has made me happy for so many years. I want him to know how badly I care about him, how I can't live without him. But I know that I can't do that any longer. I can't pretend that everything will work itself out. The lying, the yelling, the cheating. Oh god, the cheating. How can I go back to him, touch him after he's left me once again for some slut with an IQ counted on one hand? I won't allow myself to fall into his charm again. This is the end. If he leaves now, we are done forever. The final chapter in the Bulma and Yamcha drama series./i

With that, she snapped the small book closed and placed it in her bedside table. She felt.. better, but not renewed. She needed the final closure. Last night wasn't enough, she had to tell him face to face, make sure he knew. Knew that he could never turn back. Then, only then will she be satisfied. 'Maybe now I can move on with my life, live a little', she thought, not at all excited by the optimistic statement.

c/c

Many florescent eyes were staring at her from the sky and she vaguely wondered about the pounding in back of her head. She was lying flat on her back on a hard floor. She was swaying in between consciousness. Lifting herself onto her elbows, she noted the strain on her back and the quick sear of pain shooting up her neck. Her eyes were still dancing a little when she was finally in an upright sitting position. Her hand cradled the side of her head and she looked up and squealed a little in surprise.

Vegeta was staring down at her with a look of odd curiosity on his face. He physically winced when she squealed. 

"Why are you sleeping in the middle of the kitchen floor, woman?" he ordered, leaving no room for questions.

This enraged Bulma to no end. Yamcha completely forgotten for the moment, she glared up at Vegeta. "I wasn't fucking sleeping, I fainted."

Before she'd fallen on the floor into the dark abyss, she'd be on the phone with her psychologist's voicemail. She was leaving a message saying she needed to make an appointment immediately. When she had hung up, she couldn't help herself. She just started crying and fainted.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Why?"

"None of your business," she replied coldly, not liking not being taken seriously by the monkey prince.

"Nn," was her only reply and he dug into the fridge, immediately ignoring her presence.

She'd learned a lot about Vegeta since he'd come to her home only a short few months earlier. She knew that she had to be bold and fearless to even get him to speak to her. At first, she'd been timid and friendly but she soon learned that approach was deaf on him. He only responded to hate and force, something she could dish out like no other woman. Her parents soon learned this fact also, leaving Bulma in complete charge of the man whom'd killed thousands of people. Even Goku had taken her aside and asked her to keep an eye on him. Didn't they know she had her own life to attend to without being their babysitter? He was a serial killer and not a puppy, for the gods' sake.

She walked up behind him looking over his shoulder at the contents in the fridge. She was famished. She didn't get to eat very much with all the work she'd been doing, she really did need a break. Her sturdy mind-set was about to crack and she needed to get back on track or else she'd fall into all but the pits of hell.

She reached in for the orange juice over his shoulder and he stiffened as her arm brushed up against it. He turned quickly and strode past her, purposely not touching her. What was his problem?

He turned around in the stairwell and looked at her with all the heat and passion of seven smut movies and then walked upstairs without a further look back at her. She blinked at the spot he previously had occupied. She was so shaken by all the events of the day that she could barely focus her attention on something as simple as pouring a glass of orange juice. She dropped the jug onto the floor, the cool liquid pooling around her feet and she started to cry. She leaned against the counter and cried and cried. She'd been doing a lot of that.

She found herself slipping her jacket on and leaving the front gates of the mansion, heading for only the gods know where.

She was soaked head to foot. She'd walked four miles in the rain, just thinking. She was probably going to catch pneumonia. Her hair was hanging in her face and dripping all over the carpet as she darted through the dark hallways of Capsule Corporation. At four in the morning the house was dark and silent, and she had tears drying on her face as more still fell fluently. One hand gripped the chest of her navy blue sweatshirt tightly, water dripping out of her squeezed fist, while the other felt out blindly for anything that might just be standing in the path to her destination.

She ran headfirst into a brick wall; at least that was what it felt like. It knocked her back about five feet and she fell directly on her hip. She expressed her distaste for her predicament with a slight hiss, her hand immediately flying to hold it tenderly, checking the damage. She picked herself up off the hard floor, testing her weight on it. Good, it wasn't broken. She lifted her head and looked up to see exactly what had caused her discomfort, only to find another set of eyes staring at her with cold calculation. She blinked back a tidal wave of tears and she looked into his eyes.

It was none other than Vegeta. Why did he always have to been there when she was at her weakest? He was the last person on Earth or any other planet for that matter that she'd want to see her in this shape. Had he been waiting for her to come home since she'd run off?

He growled menacingly, baring his sharp Saiyan canines at her aggressively. "Watch who you think to trample over in the middle,"

"Sorry," she mumbled shakily, cutting him off abruptly with a short nod in his direction. "I have to go."

He grabbed her as she tried to slide past him and looked into her eyes once again. "Why are you doing this?" he asked her, and not in his usually demanding tone.

"What are you talking about?" she breathed out.

"You would let that excuse of a man effect such a strong will? I'm disappointed in myself for thinking that highly of such a stupid human." He let her go, pushing her away from him harshly. He really was disappointed in her, wasn't he?

She leaned against the wall weakly and sighed heavily. He was right. She Iwas/I strong willed and she shouldn't let someone get to her like this. She made a vow right then and there to never let a man hurt her like this ever again.

She looked up at Vegeta and he was eyeing her blankly. She suddenly got an idea.

"Vegeta, can I stay with you tonight?"

He frowned considerably and looked as if he was about to say no. She knew it was a long shot, but she didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to think of Yamcha anymore than she already had, she just wanted.. release.

He didn't say yes and he didn't say no, he just brushed past her lightly on his way to his room. She followed timidly and when he turned around, she stopped, waiting for him to tell her to leave.

"Are you coming?" he growled.

She nodded and closed the space in between them before he changed his mind. He continued on with his journey to his room and soon they were walking through the door. His room was plain with only one lonely dresser, a small desk, and a king size bed. He had his own bathroom as well, but the door was closed.

She crawled underneath his comforter immediately and closed her eyes. She could smell him all over the bed and it was strangely comforting. Soon, she felt a dip on his side of the bed and an arm snaked its way around her and crushed her to his chest.

She was surprised, and even more so when he whispered in her ear. "Don't expect anything else than tonight, woman."

She knew what he meant. Don't think she could prance around and cling to him like he'd seen her do to Yamcha. The prince was much different than Yamcha, though, and she wouldn't dream of having such a relationship with him. Just for one night, she wanted to let go of everything and just lie in the saiyan killers' arms. Tomorrow, she was on a mission. She would either get him back or she wouldn't. Either way, closure was coming.

c/c

Her plans were spoiled by two many things. She had her mother invite Yamcha over, and make up a nice little brunch for the two. She had it planned out just perfectly. She was going to make it very clear that if he chose to leave now, he'd never be with her again. She was sure that would bring him back into her arms. Instead of walking out onto the lawn to see the man of her dreams sitting there, she saw the man of her dreams sitting there with his new blonde bitch attached to his hips. Not only did she see that, but she also saw her friends Goku, his son Gohan, Krillin, and Piccolo. Her mother sat sweetly between them all, her face as bright and cheerful as ever as she passed a very solemn looking Piccolo a bowl of vegetable dip.

"Oh Bulma, dear, come have a seat. I made that potato salad you've always liked!" her mom screeched as soon as she saw Bulma approaching. She sat down opposite of Yamcha, Serena, her mother, and Goku. Piccolo and Gohan sat on either side of her and they didn't look happy about it, as she was spreading butter so forcefully over her roll that it was grating over her plate. They didn't want to end up at the receiving end of Bulma's anger at Yamcha and his new girlfriend.

Bulma couldn't take it anymore. He just sat there, like everything was okay between them, sneaking little giggles and kisses with that slut. She stood up without a word and started to walk away from the table, her eyes brimming with what could possibly of been the most embarrassing display of waterworks, had he not of pulled her out of her misery almost instantly.

"Are you insane, Vegeta?" she screamed, pointing a french manicured finger in his face aggressively, all potential tears forgotten. "I've bbeen/b working on your stupid training materials. Day and night, in fact. Now get the hell out of my face, they'll get done!"

His eyes narrowed threateningly in her direction. His face was contorted into barely controlled anger at the human woman's audacity to speak to him in the manner that she was speaking to him. He was fuming, smoke about to erupt from his ears at any moment. She took no notice of it though, and if she did, was pointedly ignoring it. She continued on unabashed "I don't care how big of a tantrum you throw." The night before was forgotten, as he riled her temper like no other man could.

"You insolent little bitch" he ground out, lifting his hand to the side, preparing to slap the shit out of her. He looked into her eyes, seeing that familiar sight of fear and reveled in it. He smirked at her maniacally, approving of the flame of dismay in her eyes. Goku paled and started inching away from the picnic table with great haste, followed closely by his son and friends. They all knew what was coming and didn't want to witness the massacre.

"Oh look, you're friends are just as cowardly as you are!" Vegeta snarled at her, his fists balling up and flying to his sides.

The flame burned even brighter in her eyes, and Vegeta mistook it for fear once again. Goku and the others froze as Bulma's hand shot out in their direction, pointing at them accusingly. "Don't any of you dare move another fucking inch!" She didn't shift her eyes for the statement at all. She just kept staring at Vegeta the whole time, the flame growing and growing.

Just when things started to get real ugly between Bulma and Vegeta, Yamcha's ditzy blonde bitch (Bulma was quite fond of referring to her as that) said something that drove Bulma off the deep end. "Why don't you just make the stuff for him Bulma? Are you too rich and spoiled to help someone less fortunate than yourself?" The stupid cunt had no idea what she was talking about. What kind of shit had Yamcha put into her head or was she just that ignorant?

Bulma's finger flew out for a second time to point at the woman, without any caution to people's faces, as she flicked Vegeta in the nose with her fingernail. He growled at her but her ears were mute to him. Her arm was extended fully in the direction of her recipient of hate.

"What the hell did you just say?" she barked insanely. 

No one moved, except Vegeta as he started to become aggravated that he was being ignored now. He grabbed the woman's arm and began to tell her off for trying to disobey him, but out of nowhere, she flung out of his grasps and attacked the other human woman sitting at the table.

All hell was about to break loose on the Capsule Corp. lawn. Bulma leaned over the table, picked up the woman by her shirt and threw her no less than fifteen feet towards.. They collided together, Vegeta unmoving, and Serena at his feet screaming in pain, holding her sides. Now they were all stopped in their tracks. It was one thing to see the demon side of Bulma but now she had involved a notorious saiyan serial killer, if the look on his face was any indication.

No one made a move to stop what happened next, too afraid of both the fiery tempered people that were getting ready to explode at each other, and everyone else. Bulma was glaring at Serena's whimpering form on the ground, her hands twitching like they needed to grab something and beat her skull in. Vegeta was glaring at Bulma with all the intensity of four suns, his eyebrow's slight uplift the only indication he was ready to start boiling over the top. 

Bulma hissed at Serena menacingly and the young woman flinched considerably at Bulma's rage.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't," she started begging, groveling at the bottom of Vegeta's feet.

"Shut your rancid mouth, you putrid, horrendous, filthy, slimy Succubus!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, taking four steps toward the now bawling Serena.

Yamcha finally got the nerve to step forward and yell, "No, Bulma! I'll kill you if you hurt her. I love her."

If he thought this was the right thing to say at the moment, he was mistaken greatly. But his greatest threat wasn't from Bulma, her gaze now murderous; it was from Vegeta. Later, it was hard for her to tell what exactly happened. She didn't have the speed the other Z fighters had, after all. But one moment she was about to charge Yamcha with the biggest tongue-lashing he'd ever received, and then he was lying there motionless on the ground. She couldn't see Yamcha because Vegeta was blocking her view, his fist a bloody mess.

Goku stepped toward Vegeta, his hair already a glow bright yellow from going Super Saiyan. The trembling in his hands could have caused a small earthquake. "Vegeta, I'll give you one chance to apologize for just killing my friend," he grit out, going immediately from the carefree best friend of her youth to the serious Goku ready to battle for his friends, family, and home.

Bulma watched with utter shock, not really grasping what was going on further than: 'He just killed him. He just killed him'.

Serena sobbed into her bright yellow sundress and then threw up all over the lawn. Bulma looked over at her the other girl, horror swelling within her. She had caused all of this, and now the man she had once loved so dearly was dead. It sank in faster than she would have liked. This was all her fault. It took her over and she was rooted to the spot. But why? Why had Vegeta stepped in at the exact moment Yamcha had threatened her life? It was all too much for the young genius and she did the first thing her instincts told her.

She turned around on her heels as quickly as her small human body would allow and ran.

c/c

She slammed her fists down against her knees, sadness engulfing her. She wobbled in the park swing she was sitting in, causing sparkling crystalline tears to hit her hands. The wind kicked her air around her head in great swirls, lapping at her face hungrily. The strands stung her wet cheeks as they whipped across them relentlessly. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, and she wept uncontrollably at what had happened.

He had been the one who had hurt her once again, done the thing she found so hard to forgive him for. The crime that broke her a little more each time it was committed. Her heart couldn't find the will to let it go each time she pretended to forgive and forget. Bulma Briefs had never forgotten anything in her life. Why couldn't Yamcha see what he was doing to her, understand how wrong he had treated her?

She had waited for him so long that she was now torn. Yamcha had been there for her when she was at her lowest; he had always been a great friend. But friendship's all that Bulma saw for them anymore. Over and over again, she was forced to feel the emotional strain he caused when she found out that he had touched another woman while supposedly being devoted to her. Over and over again, she had taken him back and pretended to forgive his unforgivable sins. She had given up, what more could she do? She couldn't be without him, could she?

Now he was dead. He was gone from this Earth and they couldn't wish him back for another eight months. She couldn't find it in her to be sad, knowing that he was in the afterworld. He'd spend eight months there and then they'd wish him back and everything would be okay again.

What about Vegeta, though? Why did he just snap like that when Yamcha threatened her? It was like a protective instinct woke up inside of him for her.

A picture of gravity defying hair and piercing onyx eyes flashed through her mind.

White Blossom trees swayed in the wind and Bulma wrapped her arms around herself securely. It was getting a bit chilly, but she tried to ignore it. The park looked so beautiful on early autumn mornings; she didn't want to leave just yet. She found a lot of calming solitude sitting in the park so early in the morning. She loved the way the frosty air made her lungs burn lightly. The last of the white petals were falling from the trees lightly. Every time the wind spoke, another few petals would ride the soft wind currents, gently landing on the ground. Every petal that hit the ground reminded her of the oncoming winter. She feared she'd be much colder this season that just the snow could make her feel. Everything around her was so calm and peaceful, and she felt like there was a battle going on inside of her.

She had found release in the most unexpected person. She had found Vegeta in day following Yamcha's latest heartbreak. She'd been a mess of emotional fun for him, but he had been there to give her peace nonetheless, never asking for anything in return and not really seeing it as a favor. Even through his harsh demeanor, he'd found a way to give her something no one has ever, without even trying. All he had to do was be himself. He instilled something so much more than comfort in her; he made her feel alive.

She had found the most fulfilling release anyone could ever find.

She had found someone she could express her utmost aggravation to and all he would do was laugh in her face. She'd yell and scream at him for being such a jackass and he would just retaliate harsher. His mind didn't even flutter over the fact that she was a woman in emotional distraught and he should be taking it easy on her. That made her tougher, it made her feel like she could take it on, battle the bad and come up on top. He didn't treat her specially or prance around her nervously just because she was upset, and she was grateful for his unknowing behavior.

He had allowed her to let go wildly in one amazingly heated and passion-fueled night. She let go of everything she kept deep within her while the sun was breathing and put all that untouched aggression into the way she touched him. He elicited the most unthinkable pleasure from the most innocent places. He gave her a way to forget all the things that troubled her in her life and she felt renewed the day after.

Her eyes glossed over thinking about the heat that she felt when she was so close to Vegeta. He had this way of making her feel everything so much more powerfully. The way his hands roamed over her territorially, like he was proud to be touching her. He touched her like no one else should ever have the privilege again. He reveled in her body when he drug his hands fully over her stomach and hips, looking at her with hunger and need. Their chemistry shone brilliantly and it illuminated the whole room. He never missed a beat in making her feel like he would love for nothing more but to make her feel like a goddess. And he did make her feel like a goddess, over and over again.

Bulma had never felt so confused in all her life. She was kidding herself if she thought that being with Vegeta was going to be the perfect little set-up after the entire trauma with Yamcha. But it was safe to lean on Vegeta, as crazy as that sounded. There'd be no emotional pain with him, because how could Bulma love a man like the cold-hearted saiyan prince? And he sure as hell didn't want anything from her.

She huffed in aggravation; a cloud of condensation forming as her warm breath hit the cold hair, suddenly aware of a slight vibration coming from her pocket. 

"It's Chi-Chi," she whispered to herself as she stared at her cell phone screen. She vaguely remembered calling her before she'd left the house at five am in a fit of hysterics, begging her to call Bulma back. She grimaced; she really did lose all rational thought when she was that upset.

It was eight now, she'd been at the park for over two and a half-hours, and gotten no where. It had been five nights since her and Vegeta had shared themselves with each other and he had made no more attempts at continuing the coupling afterwards. Was she just a one-night thing for the prince? She couldn't believe that something that lit such an enormous flame could be forgotten so easily for him. She refused to, but it nagged at the back of her mind anyway.

'I'm going crazy,' she thought, still staring down at the fourteen missed calls from Chi-Chi, and thirty-eight from her mother. Apparently she had called her mother trying to get a hold of Bulma. Would Vegeta ever call her repeatedly, worried about her condition?

She wasn't ready to face Yamcha yet, she wasn't ready to face her mom's concern, and she definitely wasn't ready to face the saiyan prince and so she ran. She ran so far into the depths of insanity that when they found her, she was on the brink of being lost forever.

c/c

Almost two months had passed since she'd run away from the park, that day. She ran away from her life at Capsule Corporation, her life with Yamcha, and her chance with Vegeta. Sitting on that swing alone, the air nipping away at her resolve, she realized that she depended on everyone in her life to hold her up. She expected someone to always pick her up when she fell. Whether she was running to Yamcha for physical comfort, or her parents for financial and emotional comfort. Never once had she ever lived for just herself, no relationships, no parents, and no battles to determine Earth's future. Just her.

She had ran down the streets of Satan City until she couldn't breath anymore, crouched over her knees sucking in deep breaths. Her lungs had felt like they were going to collapse on her, and before she knew what she was doing she was climbing into a taxi and riding for the longest fifteen minutes of her life to the airport. She had stepped out of the cab in front of the huge white building and stared up, wondering what it was she thought she was about to accomplish. The windows of the airport glittered in the sun brightly, almost begging someone to come in and make a change. The driver beeped his horn grabbing her attention away from herself. 

She dug inside her purse for her wallet, aggravating the driver further. She had almost forgot to pay him. He drove off with a little squeal as soon as she handed him his cash, apparently not like being held up.

She had entered the building slowly at first; still weary about such a big change, but her courage quickly increased with every step through the bustling traveling center. "I need a break," she had sternly told herself. Soon, she was at a desk ordering a two-way ticket to New York City. It was meant to be a vacation, just a short get-a-away from everyone, make it on her own for just a month.

But she fell trap to what the city had to offer. Drugs, sex, and parties you would not believe. She still used her "Rich Japanese Heiress" reputation to get invitations to some of the biggest blow-outs ever, something she would have been lost on her being a middle-class civilian. 

She had stayed with her friend Marron, Krillin's ex-girlfriend for a couple of weeks before finding a job overlooking a group of scientists properly disposing of chemical waste. That had been what she had done her whole life, after all. It wasn't the money she was used to, but she could still do whatever she wanted freely. She refused to use any of Capsule Corps' funds for her expedition.

If she had to say she was sorry, she would. She knew they were worried sick about her, her parents that is. It was up for debate whether Yamcha missed her, and she was certain Vegeta hadn't even given her a second thought, though she thought of him constantly. She e-mailed her mother and father every couple of days to let them know she was okay. They were very proud to see her doing something by herself for once. Then again, they were happy with whatever she chose to do in life. They really were the best parents anyone could ever have.

She got her own loft in Manhattan, and flourished. She was satisfied with herself for making in on her own, happy that she didn't have any of the drama form back home to deal with. But something nagged at her constantly, something was always there with her. Something very powerful and she didn't know what it was.

She was insane if she told you she didn't miss him. Just the memory of his rough callused hands making their way across her soft milky skin was enough to bring her body to life again, just as if he were there performing these ministrations. He had plagued her thoughts on more than one occasion, and if she were honest with herself, she'd admit that his one night of blissfully tormenting proceedings had left more of an effect on her than six years with Yamcha. 

She had taken up painting in her spare time, a whole new outlet to her aggression, a never before seen side of the turmoil she still felt every day, boiling inside of her. And the thing she found she painted most often was him. The fire inside her wouldn't die no matter how many dead puppies she thought of. Her chest got so tight when she thought about him that it hurt worse than the time she got blasted by three-year-old Gohan's very small (thank the gods) Kamehameha.

His perfectly chiseled body was burned into her brain and she furiously drew him every time she found the chance. Between work and partying, she had found another obsession. Bulma's one night of intensity had evolved into a desperate need and obsession with the prince. She found it hard to escape him when she was sober and so she turned to something else to rid her of the tormenting thoughts.

ICocaine/I.

A business associate of a large company she'd dealt with in Japan had come to see her the Thursday before a huge art show, asking her to put her paintings in the show the following night. She'd asked him why on such last notice but he wouldn't answer her, just begged her to come.

"I'll think about it for a couple hours, since it's such short notice and get back to you tonight," she'd replied to him gracefully. He looked relieve that she wasn't going to refuse right away.

She paced her loft patiently, staring over each painting of her god. Why had she painted so many pictures of him? It was like he had poisoned her with want for him. She needed him so bad, especially in the middle of the night, that it drove her crazy. She thought of nothing but him in all of her free time. She was so obsessed by the time she got to New York that she didn't bother to make any friends or date at all. Her heart and her body only lusted for him.

She shook her head vigorously trying to rid herself of these thoughts. She tried to return her mind back to the very serious decision she was facing. They wouldn't be her own personal work anymore if she set them up for the world to see but on the other hand, this company was very interested in seeing what she could do.

c/c

Now a black-haired beauty, Bulma stood over the toilet seat, throwing up the small amount of cheese and crackers she had consumed before work that Friday night. After a large line of the perfectly tainted white substance she inhaled hungrily through her nostril, she saw stars. Her head spun from the intense buzz she was feeling, and she felt ready to take on the world. ILiterally./I She felt her pupils dilate considerably and then she peaked, leaning up against the side of the stall of the public hotel bathroom. She tried wiping the residue off her nose and upper lip but she was stuck for the moment, feeling higher than she'd ever felt. No thoughts of Vegeta plagued her, just hot white pleasure running through her veins.

There were big executives, producers, artists, models, everyone was there at this art show. Any type of person you could think of. When she walked into the richly lit room, Bulma's beauty sobered even the drunkest of the men, her grace far surpassing every woman there, even the widely sought after models. Every one of the men looked at her greedily, their lustful stares ignored completely. There was only one man that had a thought in her head anymore. She could think of no other for the past month. It was the mean-spirited, emotionally deft saiyan, Vegeta. She wondered if he really hadn't thought about her at all since she left.

The party lasted far into the night, not ending until three o'clock in the morning. Bulma didn't care, though. She wasn't tired, she was just drained after having spent half the night thinking of Vegeta in the hotel bathroom. She hardly had time to even enjoy the festivities. Her heart burned for him the longer she was away. She had no idea what kind of curse he had put her under and she didn't know if she quite liked it. It was almost like he had a control over her, a control over her mind and body.

Her free thoughts were of nothing but him in her last days in New York. She loved it there, and she perhaps would of stayed indefinitely, but something was calling her back to Japan, to Satan City, and especially calling her back to Capsule Corp. Her thoughts were getting further and further away form her as her addiction to the cocaine and her addiction for Vegeta grew.

A/N: HOLY SHIT. More to come, my fingers just won't stop! 


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